Earn It
by cloudosaurus
Summary: Apparently, all it takes for Kirishima's self-control to crumble is one Bakugou Katsuki dressed as a ridiculously good-looking vampire. [KiriBaku Halloween-ish fluff with no real plot.]


Kirishima hums to himself as he squeezes one last dollop of hair gel onto his fingers and carefully cards them through his spikes. He gives his reflection a cursory glance and then smiles, pleased.

Maybe he's too old for this sort of thing, but Kirishima can't help but feel excited for this afternoon's Fall Festival. Apparently, it's one of the ways that UA tries to make sure its students don't miss out on any of the regular high school experiences, and Kirishima is stoked. Since the festival is so close to Halloween, their class has decided to host a Monster Café.

Kirishima's slotted to be in the back, part of the crew whipping up delicious drinks and baking sweet treats. So yeah, that means he doesn't get to dress up, but he doesn't really have any complaints. He likes to think that he fits well into a supportive role, just like on the battlefield. He might not get to be flashy, but his presence is firm and rock-solid, just as essential to the mission as those with showier quirks.

That idea has a nice ring to it, Kirishima thinks, slamming his fists together as he gets himself pumped. Class 1-A is on a mission to be the undisputed star of the Fall Festival, and he's going to do everything he can to make it happen.

A sharp rap sounds on the door, drawing Kirishima out of his thoughts. It's a series of two hard, impatient knocks in rapid succession, and a wide, toothy grin breaks across his face. Insistent and demanding, just like the person, Kirishima muses.

"Come on in, bro!" he calls from where he's bent over at the foot of his bed, tying the laces of his favourite crimson canvas sneakers. "Door's unlocked!"

An affirmative grunt, and then the door is thrust open unforgivingly. Its hinges squeak in protest as Bakugou steps into Kirishima's room like _he's_ the one who owns it, ushering in a cool autumn breeze that sends a trail of goosebumps skittering up Kirishima's bare arms, along with the undeniable weight of his presence.

There's something about the short-tempered, combustible boy that must be gravitational, Kirishima feels, as his eyes are immediately drawn to Bakugou's tall, proud figure. For how else is Kirishima supposed to explain the alarming realization that his world has increasingly begun to revolve around him?

Kirishima looks up at Bakugou. Then, he chokes back a gasp, blinks, does a double take, and stands with shaky knees. Oh, oh _fuck_. Bakugou raises a perfectly arched eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. Kirishima meets his gaze with a self-conscious grin. He wipes his sweaty palms on the worn denim of his jeans as he takes a step back to lean against his bed.

Bakugou is a vampire. A really fucking gorgeous vampire. He looks so stunning that it's unfair, Kirishima wants to complain, trying desperately to fight off the telltale warmth of a blush by way of sheer determination.

He's wearing tight ebony slacks that hug the slight curve of his hip. The smooth fabric is taut where it outlines every lean muscle of Bakugou's strong thighs, before cascading down the remaining length of his long legs in a way that makes Kirishima's mouth go dry.

Kirishima's gaze lingers where Bakugou's pants are cinched at the waist by a thin leather belt. Bakugou's waist is so, so slender, and Kirishima tries not to wonder how he's never noticed that before. And he's definitely _not_ thinking about how it might feel to wrap a snug arm around it; to pull Bakugou flush against his body, his back pressed to Kirishima's chest.

Tucked into the belt is an elegant top with billowing sleeves and a deep, ruffled collar that Bakugou has left almost entirely unbuttoned. The white silk drapes gracefully over his broad shoulders and then forms a V, revealing the pale skin of his toned chest. A large silver cross dangles from a delicate chain around Bakugou's neck. It's embedded with a blood-red ruby that catches the bright afternoon light to sparkle; the same shade as Bakugou's mesmerizing eyes.

As for Bakugou's eyes, _oh_, they steal his breath away. They're electrifying, bottomless crimson depths stormy as Bakugou studies Kirishima studying him. Bakugou's gaze is frighteningly intense, and Kirishima gulps. But still, he's frozen; captivated, he can't bring himself to look away.

Bakugou's wearing makeup, he realizes with shock, heart skipping a beat. Bakugou has always been pretty, but right now, he's _beautiful_. His almond eyes, alluring, are framed with perfectly painted kohl, a rich, midnight black that highlights their almost-feline shape. When he blinks, his lashes flutter. Long and thick, they cast gentle shadows across his high cheekbones.

And his lips. They look so kissable, so inviting, begging to have another mouth moulded against them, a wet tongue teasing them apart and sharp teeth bruising the sensitive flesh. Bakugou's plump pout is a shade darker than usual, and Kirishima half-wonders if he's wearing lipstick. On second thought, it has to be a wicked tinted lip-gloss, he thinks. Because Bakugou's lips are oh-so-full and perfectly plump and sinfully _moist_, and Kirishima has to make a conscious effort not to lick his own.

He must have stared at Bakugou's mouth for a heartbeat too long, because those pretty lips part to reveal a set of dangerously pointed fangs; Kirishima's only warning before Bakugou speaks.

"The fuck are you starin' at? You want me to bite you or some shit?" The words are coarse and Bakugou crosses his arms over his chest defensively, but beyond that front, he doesn't sound mad. If anything, he's confused, possibly a bit miffed.

This is Kirishima's chance to crack a self-deprecating joke, to clear the awkward tension that hangs heavy and palpable in the air around them – to return to the well-versed bro-zone. And still.

Oh. _Oh_, Kirishima's newly defunct brain supplies, that _would_ be quite nice.

"Yes," he whispers, the self-incriminating reply falling softly from his lips. He doesn't mean to say it; would never have the courage to do so with intent, and a surge of uncomfortable heat rushes to his cheeks as he's hit with the realization that fuck, he just did anyway.

Kirishima wants to kick himself; would grab the dooming word in his hands and stuff in back down his throat if he could. Except he can't. It's out there now, suspended precariously in the small space that separates him from Bakugou.

All he can do is hope that Bakugou didn't hear him, so he bites his lip and chances another quick glance to see if his expression has changed. And Kirishima's heart promptly sinks into his stomach. He heard, all right. Damn him and his big, stupid, honest mouth.

Bakugou is staring at him, gawking, clearly caught off-guard. The hard edges of his scowl have disappeared and a rosy pink tinge dusts his cheeks. Kirishima has never seen Bakugou blush before. He looks impossibly _cute_, and Kirishima's heart tightens with vengeance, squeezing painfully. Fuck.

"Uh," Kirishima begins stammering, trying to salvage the situation. He really can't, though, not with his face still burning in a shade that that rivals the gaudy red spikes of his hair. Kirishima chews at his lower lip, digging a snaggletooth into the skin with enough force to bleed, and wills the floor to swallow him whole. Momentarily, he's fiercely jealous of Hagakure.

And then. Bakugou arches a brow and rakes his smouldering gaze up Kirishima's body inch-by-fucking inch; agonizingly slowly and in a way that makes Kirishima feel very, very naked, even though he's definitely not. Bakugou's' gaze lingers pointedly at Kirishima's mouth before he finally meets his widened honey-red eyes.

It's Kirishima's turn to gawk. Any self-conscious uncertainty that was previously present in Bakugou's expression is wiped clean, replaced by a cocky grin that Kirishima knows all too well. Bakugou makes another show of letting his gaze flit to the hollow of Kirishima's throat. Kirishima swallows.

"Dumbass," Bakugou says, full lips curving into a wide smirk that promises danger. "You gotta earn my bite." Bakugou's eyes glint with deviously suggestive mirth, and Kirishima goes weak at the knees.

His jaw is slack, lips parting with an audible, wet pop, as a swarm of butterflies comes to sudden, explosive life inside his stomach. His chest swells and his heart soars. And maybe Kirishima's brain has stopped functioning after all, because he's still stuck processing the fact that Bakugou didn't outright reject him. Actually, Bakugou might just be _into_ him, and Kirishima's face breaks into a stupidly happy, blindingly bright smile.

He doesn't even notice that Bakugou has started to stomp out of his room with intentionally heavy steps until he's at the doorway, glancing over his shoulder.

"Hurry up, Shitty Hair," he grumbles, like he isn't the least bit affected by their almost-kinda-sorta confessions. "We're getting late."

With that, Bakugou disappears from Kirishima's room and down the hallway and around a corner, long cape billowing behind him; leaving Kirishima to close his gaping mouth and then chase after him with blazing cheeks and a hammering heart.


End file.
